


New You

by theotherdesanta



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Byeeeeee, F/M, I'm kinda drunk, M/M, Makeover, Multi, Other, Sad, Trevor oriented, Trikey - Freeform, manbun, not sorry, on coke, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 05:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10353375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theotherdesanta/pseuds/theotherdesanta
Summary: Ron, Wade, Chef and Michael team up to give Trevor a makeover and get him to his annual "Fucked-Up-Friday" party in hopes amidst the orgies and drugs he can find a mate.General cuteness and hints of shipping between Michael and T, and T and Chef. Also features Manbuns.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been a while, as I noted somewhere my pc died and I'm currently using my sisters new laptop for art and stories and stuff and this is my first attempt since I've had to connect my old keyboard and get used to working from a different angle than what I'm used to. 
> 
> New wise: My little elderly pup Max passed away, he was 14 and I guess in the best possible situation for him, he went at home where we were and we were there with him it's better to know he was comfortable and with us, but it's still taken a big toll emotionally, if I sound kinda spaced it's because of lack of sleep and I've been on and off meds so it's all a bit of a mess. 
> 
> In other less sad news, I'm posting ideas on instagram, ideas, pics, random fandom stuff like that so if you wanna see ideas or stupid pictures of Mike's face and Trevor's pooch tummy then you know where I am. 
> 
> And lastly...I'm sorry. This fic is very random and it might not be like my usual stuff, which is probably a good thing but I've recently gotten Microsoft Word and it has a ton of spell checkers and fixers so if things are different, it's that and I'm just going along cus without them I am awful. 
> 
> So, thats about it. Hopefully my pc gets fixed soon and or I get used to writing on the laptop so I can get back to posting more and updating. 
> 
> Have a good afternoon and I will see you guys, in the next fanfiction! Buh-bye!

Selfcare, hygienic grooming, dental maintenance, being forced under a makeup artists tattoo gun dipped in paint eerily close in shade his natural sun drenched olive tone. Now the last one, Trevor refuses with all of his might to proceed through, unwilling to mask the physical reminders of his tortured youth simply because woman, and somewhat humorously, men, don’t find such a large quantity of scars and displays of bodily injury all that attractive like the genders used to, not the mention the unsightly, mild satanic and over symbolic inking’s littering his skin.

Whenever his friend suggests disguising the sparrow decorating Trevor’s neck, the man almost finds himself devolving into one of his famous external volcanos, the human disasters that have recently blown apart Sandy Shores and breezed through the whole of Blaine County before settling to a steady shit storm in the heart of Silicon City, Los Santos. And unsurprisingly, following a brief cool off period consisting of strippers, meth browns and Wade’s lacklustre attempt at singing Ri-Ri tracks at the Vanilla Unicorn, the topic is stashed away in a box along with a tube of Tattoo concealer, the less invasive option yet still receives a negative response, or perhaps if we were to touch upon honesty, then violent threats of being sexually violated in unspeakable manners that even have Michael De Santa clenching muscles in the farthest regions of his person. 

Gingerly they gather to approach the thought of Trevor swapping his current hairstyle for something a little less grungy and giving the notion he has it trimmed so close to his scalp because the man is just too damn lazy to try keeping it clean for longer than half an hour, to everyone’s amazement, Trevor agrees to, eagerly in fact, speaking of the nights he’s craved his long flowing mane that once had all the girls in Canada swooning and chasing him down the snowy streets to get their hands on. 

And of course, Michael pulls out the puns about them chasing Trevor down so they could braid the long dark locks for him. His joke earns a few chortles before T’s ruffled feathers causes him to admit a ferocious growl, stealing the spotlight and seeing everyone hastily making a beeline retreat for the door. 

Weeks passing and everything being said and done in regards to his cosmetic appearance, the crew set to work on his fashion sense, each of the criminals praying for a miracle and the result being a respectable looking junkie they can launch into a crowd of desperate singletons hungry for a rugged hillbilly drug dealer carrying a soft spot for elderly women and teacup pugs. 

Splitting the task between them, Chef and Michael head to Suburban on the outskirts of Harmony, planning on exaggerating their friend’s hipster themed wardrobe while Ron and Wade have a short drive to the discount clothing place off Grand Senora near the other end of the plane hangar, not wanting to push Trevor out of his comfort zone and hoping not to blow too much for the sake of getting their boss out into society while they focus on expanding the lab. 

Wade, being the clueless sweetheart he is, plucks the most outrageous, bold printed shirts off of the rack and shouts to Ronald who stands on the far end of the store carefully choosing cameo patterned Khakis, asking him if the boss prefers “C.O.C.K inspector” or “Magnet sucker”, earning a lazy brush of the hand as Ron calls the assistant over to go into detail with her about the overly specific width and general thickness of Trevor’s waist and thighs, sharing far too much personal information about his lower torso to ensure they find him the correct size instead of buying sweat pants designed for those sporting a XXXL tag which he knows has always served Trevor well the last 6 years he’s spent living it up in the desert, however these days, he and the rest of the world feels it’s time for a change. 

Meanwhile, Michael and Chef hover between the displays of neatly folded items wondering where to fucking start, arguing amongst each other whether or not Trevor should or should not be given suspenders and pants that crop just above the ankle, that they’re trying to get him onto the dating scene and not sign him up for Life Invaders attractive nerd program, both subtly admitting they find Trevor appealing and end the heated conversation before either of them can realise they’re blushing, Michael burying his flush cheeks in a stack of ironic, skin tight sleeveless sweatshirts and Chef accidentally wondering into the underwear section and groaning loudly when he walks into a shelf of loud, superhero printed briefs. 

“OH, COME ON!” 

Michael snorts in amusement, letting it concentrate into a snickering giggle as he sifts through the clothes and pretends to not notice Chef marching out of the back room clutching a pair of Deadpool underwear, throwing them onto the counter and telling the guy at the register to hold onto them while he and Mike finish looking. 

The rest of the hunt is frighteningly easy: The two pick anything with a big, comedic and or symbolic print, Michael occasionally grabbing something plain off the shelf and putting it down in front of the guy who rings up a total of six hundred bucks, along with the added extras of belts, a few gold nose rings and two studs since they’ve recently found out the hole in Trevor’s nose never actually closed up meaning he can still wear a piece of jewellery if he wants to, though Michael and Chef silently hope to god it’s a onetime thing and then the novelty wears off. 

Their own shopping spree being a success, the pair call Ron and Wade back to the trailer to check on progress and compare findings. 

following a quick survey of the purchases made, Mike and Chef (Whose name he’s come to know is Gary) are the victorious party as they see that the others selection for Trevor is nothing more than a small bundle of tanks tops and his regularly chosen short shorts that ride far too high up the ass and pinch in all the unsightly places, with two sets of cameo hunting pants for the next trip Trevor decides to take with Cletus. 

What they consider to be one of the difficult parts handled and set aside, the group begin their task of luring Trevor under the scolding downpour of a shower and get the human remains out from underneath his fingernails before they can get to the real fun changing his wardrobe and throwing out everything the lunatic has become used to wearing whilst living in the hillbilly state. 

As assumed the feat of dragging Trevor Philips into a cramped, roach infested shower room is something even Hercules himself would fail to achieve, however, stepping up the plate and putting everything he’s got into heaving that son of a bitch into the bathroom, Michael De Santa manages to barge a path through the metal death-trap and corners the junkie before he grabs hold of his friend and strips T naked, then lugs the man over his shoulder and transports them both across the trailer towards the shower where the tension, as well as steam, continuously rises until it’s palpable enough that even a fucking machete can’t slice through it. 

It’s an ordeal none of them imagined they’d have to go through, yet here they are, and though Trevor struggles against the soapy hands, steadily muddying sponges and invasive loofa’s, he seems to calm down as the four use their combined weight to get him sitting on the tile floor and Michael starts to lather up his friends now longish peppery strands of dark hair, massaging them with his thumbs to help work out the matted knots as he kneels there, listening to the others laboured breathing because Trevor has to endure hygienic violation if he wants to get what it is everyone is telling him he wants. 

Some hours later and the five emerge tired and moist, guiding a dripping Trevor into his bedroom to finish combing out the last pieces of sand and grit from his hair, also giving Wade, Chef and Ron the change to experience the sweet bliss of a catnap as Michael scours the place for a hairdryer and some light moisturiser (He is the king of moisturising after all). 

The trio don’t notice how long they’ve been out until Wade scares himself awake with a small, horse like sneeze. 

Looking around his eyes peer beyond the crack in Trevor’s bedroom door to see Michael holding up two different pairs of form fitting jeans, asking a nonvisible Trevor which he prefers. 

Wade then turns attention to the clock, seeing the time and jumping to his feet before gently kicking Chef and Ron out of their exhausted stupors. 

The sleep ridded employees rub their eyes as he frantically whispers how close it is to 11:PM, another hour and it’ll be the boss’s designated Fucked-up-Friday party, the party they intend to show him off at and hopefully land their employer a potential partner, or at the very least, long term fuck buddy. 

Together they prepare to go in and see how things are going, but the sound of Trevor’s quiet, submissive grumbles stop them and instead they choose to sneak up and listen to the conversation happening beyond the door. 

“Ain’t it nice to wear somethin’ that don’t slide down your ass the entire fuckin’ time you take a step?” Michael pokes, firmly tightening the belt around Trevor’s waist and then single handily pushing the small metal rod through the leather hole and securing it, affectionately checking the proportions and way it holds against T’s torso. 

Trevor huffs, trying not to thrust whenever his friend pulls on the belt but so keep himself upright, both are almost impossible given how dizzy the man feels after being assaulted with various cleaning products and having clumps of hair ripped from his head, after that anybody would be out of sorts for a good day or two. 

“C’mon, quit bein’ such a baby. Thought you wanted to try somethin’ a little outta your comfort zone?” 

“No” Trevor leans into his face, visually frustrated from all the prodding “YOU thought I wanted somethin’ outta my comfort zone. Maybe begin to appreciate that Trevor, if you had even bothered givin’ a shit and perhaps taken it into account while you were feelin’ me up these past couple hours, enjoys his comfort zone. He enjoys bein’ mother fuckin’ comfortable, especially in new situations!” 

“We just wanna help. Since that little fling you had with Patricia, you ain’t been on the dating scene all that much” Michael chimes. 

“First, It’s Mrs Madrazo, okay. Show the lady a lil’ respect. And secondly, I’ve never been much for ‘Dating’. It’s beneath me” His reply has the chubbier one laughing as he skims the wardrobe for a fresh shirt for him to put on. 

“You mean goin’ slow, is beneath you. Cus Trevor Philips, don’t do slow” 

“Never could. Doesn’t mean I ain’t tried. Datin’ and me just don’t seem to get along so great, with Mrs Madrazo it was different” Trevor admits, staring down at his clothed feet for a moment as he recalls the few tragic romances he shared with a number of sweet, misguided girls who never realised how tortured a soul he was, who never grew to understood all the messed up things he did whilst in a relationship with them, nor why he always ran before things could get too serious. 

“You mean with Mrs Madrazo. it was the fear of dyin’. Dame knew if she didn’t sway to your advances, she’d be at the bottom of the sewer well out back” The offhand comment earns a startled raise of the eyebrows from Ron, he and his friends exchange a few muted sentences before pressing themselves back into the wood of the door. 

“If anyone was gonna be in the bottom of that well, it would’a been you. Truth be told, the opportunity is still there, Cupcake. So, watch yourself” The lunatic motions, warning the fatter male not to push his luck just because he has him in an emotionally compromising position. 

“Yeah-yeah. Same old threats with you, Trev. Might wanna start workin’ on some fresh material. Now, the red or the blue?”   
Michael brushes off the others attempt at intimidation and pulls out two flannel over shirts to go with the white one he’s retrieved, the large criminal purses his lips as Trevor decides, holding one shirt against him before switching to the other, silently wondering which looks best. 

“Neither, I’ll just wear this—“ 

“Blue, makes yah appear less capable of murdering someone in their sleep. Or less likely to diddle their cat, bring frank, I dunno which I like the idea of better. Now suit up, we gotta head out before the party” 

“How can you be frank when you’re Michael” Trevor tries the awful pun, internally cringing as Michael pats him on the arm and motions for him to get dressed. 

“No” Is all Michael says as he leans back and crosses his arms, accidentally closing the door using his weight and pushing the three criminals on the other side, to the floor. 

Moments pass and after a brief struggle to get the T-shirt over his head, Trevor’s pooch and tiny nipples are hidden from the world, now all he must do is grab some boots and throw on the flannel Michael’s given him. 

“Hey-hey-hey, you’re not going out with your hair all over the place like that” Having moved away from the door and swung it open to start making way for the truck, Michael throws an arm across the entryway to stop his fully clothed buddy leaving with a mop of slightly damp hair ruining the new sexy trucker illusion he’s set for him. “Cmere, lemma put it up for you” 

“Ughhh, nuuuu. Naw, not gonna happen, sweet cheeks. You’ve already turned me into a coffee chugging beatnik nightmare, can we just get goin’ so I can get my balls wet?” Trevor throws up a hand, scarred fingers shifting some of the hair out of his face. 

“It’ll take two minutes, come into the living room and I’ll grab yah a scrunchie from the bag” 

“Scrunchie? Jesus, you’ve fucked so many teenage girls, you’ve actually become one”

“For the last time, she was 18” 

“Yeah, and you were 32, do the math, Creepo” The remake is ignored as the other male heads for the randomly place shopping bag and Trevor sits on the bed waiting for Michael to return, peeking into the main body of the trailer curiously wondering where the fuck his cronies are. 

Upon his return, Michael gestures for his to stand and spin as to get a better angle on how to start pulling back the unruly locks of hair. 

Trevor winces into the sharp tug on his skull, the sensation of strong hands straightening his head before gliding back and clasping a fistful of hair which is then yanked and contorted through a large neon pink scrunchie. 

“Done. Yah happy?” The question interrupts T’s concentration on the soft manhandling as Michael finishes styling him a fashionable manbun for him to show off at the party. “Ey, we’re finished, snap out of it and lets head on over. I’m drivin’” 

Trevor isn’t even allowed a moment to adjust to his reflection as he’s marched to his truck and forced into the passenger’s seat, Ron, Wade and Chef all being yelled to sit in the bed while Michael takes charge of the wheel and turns on the ignition, putting his foot to the gas he sends the truck screeching onto the road and altogether they set off towards Tooters for Fucked-Up-Friday. 

\--------

Arriving shortly after midnight the group all exit the truck and start heading inside, Trevor dragging behind to look in the mirror decorating the bars spacious hallway, for whatever reason he is mesmerised by the change in appearance. 

“Hey, eyes on the prize, man” Trevor feels his pulse race as he feels Michael walk up behind him and take both his shoulders, in the reflection he can see the older man’s baby blues looking right at him as a warm, cocky smile plasters itself upon his mouth. 

“You like it?” Michael asks, staring ahead as he gives Trevor a gentle squeeze. 

“Better than I expected” T admits, trying hard not to shallow. 

“It’s still you, brother. Just…without the layer of grime and decay. You look good” And damn does he look good. 

Clad in skin tight jeans, a white shirt with some soft blue flannel, a clean pair of work boots on his feet and his hair carefully put into an adorable manbun, Trevor is the bell of the fuckin’ ball. 

“Good enough for the great Michael Townley?” Trevor cocks his head; breaking eye contact yet stands completely stock still to avoid breaking his feigned composure. 

He hears Michael chuckle, it’s warm and deep and vibrates throughout his chest that he has pressed into Trevor’s spine, it’s enveloping and more perfect than the coldest fucking beer or strongest narcotic he’s ever fucking had. 

“Hmmm, no. You’re a little too lean for me, Trev. Mikey likes the big chunky fat ones. Maybe when you’ve put some meat on them bones” With a hard clap on the arm he leads the younger criminal toward the open dance floor where a sea of beautiful, curvaceous sultry maidens is waiting for him. 

Music is already pumping throughout the building as the crowd’s erratic moves cause the floor to shake, everyone dancing since the stroke of the clock and the crew are eager to get T in the middle of it. 

Ron and Wade disperse to the mud wrestling and bar area, Chef slinks into the backroom to grab some of his homemade ‘Party Mix’ and Michael busies himself in getting everyone’s attention to announce the boss’s arrival. 

On the top of the short podium overlooking the crowd of guests, Trevor glances over the stream of people and realises what he’s in for, and despite the friendly rejection from the only real person in his life he wants to share emotional and long term entanglement with, Trevor Philips is not about to turn down the prospects of a mass orgy. 

As Michael calls his name the girls scream in delight and flash themselves as the guys cheer and spill their alcohol over each other, in the moment T leaps into the mess of confetti and breasts and booze and drowns his problems in everything but himself as Michael looks on from his booth of bittersweet triumph. Beside him is Franklin whose come onto the scene late, Lamar now amongst the group throwing money at three aggressive, mud covered women, and Trevor opening trying to gnaw through the underwear of the eager 23-year-old bank manager with four dogs and her dead mothers parrot living in her tiny apartment. 

And of course, Chef, who is quietly nursing a glass of vodka and seething at the knowledge Trevor and that woman are going home together tonight. 

As he nears the end of his drink, Michael offers him a refill, and each sharing a saddened glance, they clink their glasses to a job well done. 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to comment, give Kudos, tips and if ya'll wanna hang out or watch me post stupid videos on insta, just search the name "Theotherdesanta" and you will find me. 
> 
> Also I apologise for any spelling errors. 
> 
> I post almost daily and feel free to make screenshot requests since I have gta, a ps4 and an addiction that knows no limits. 
> 
> Piece! L.M outtie!


End file.
